Second Chances

Authors Note; Hi everyone, first fanfiction about this pairing i've done so R&R! Tell me what you think, feedback feeds my muse.



Barty Crouch Jnr



Barty Crouch Jnr



The name swam in her dreams, confusing and disorientating her. A name she hadn’t heard in years and it haunted her now as she slept. Images of Mad-eye Moody and the man he became once the Polyjuice potion wore off floated before her eyes. His mad expression and laughter making her shake to her bones, the twitch that made her shiver. It all came to her now.



She felt a fuzzy awareness begin to descend upon her and she tried to roll over only to find she couldn’t. Her eyes flew open and she tried to sit up, tried to move at all but found she couldn’t. Her hands were bound in front of her, her feet tied together also. She looked at her bindings to find they were in fact her own silk scarves. She was being restrained with her own property.



She looked around, even more ironic she was being held prisoner in her own front room. She was laid on her shag pile rug before the fire, which had been taken care of thankfully, keeping her warm as she lay immobile on the floor.



Someone cleared their throat behind her making her turn her head a little painfully. She gasped when she had her fear confirmed; Barty Crouch Jnr sat behind her also on the floor her cat in his lap. He sat there one hand stroking her cat, the other holding her wand and one that was obviously his.



“You’re dead.” She said, the accusation sounding absurd even to her own ears. He was obviously not dead as he sat right there, his eyes studying her. She was glad the shakes she could feel going through her body had not translated into her voice.



“I think we can both see I am not.” He replied, a slight smile tugging on his lips.



“How…?” She asked, lost for a question that would cover everything she was curious about. How was he here? She had magical ward against anyone with the dark mark coming near her property. How was he alive? His soul was taken by a Dementors Kiss yet his was obviously in his body which was here. Which again begged the question of how if his body had been in Azkaban?



The small smile on his lips made her uncomfortably aware that he was probably a skilled legimens, “Quite quick aren’t you, I knew I made the right choice in coming to you.”



“In truth I don’t know any of the answers you want.” He continued, picking the cat up and placing it on the floor beside him. “Although I can tell you why I was able to get onto your property.” He forced the sleeve of his shirt up revealing his inner forearm to her. She expected to see the faded Dark Mark as Voldemort was gone it would be barely visible but what meant her eyes was an unmarked arm. No tattoo at all.



“How-”



“I don’t know,” He pulled the sleeve back down and sat back again, watching her carefully. “That’s why I came to you, I don’t have any idea how I’m here, how I’m alive in my body again, how I’m no longer marked. And most of all how I came to be wandering alone in a field in bloody Scotland of all places.”



“You were in Scotland?” She asked, eyeing her wand beside him.



“Yes, one minute I’m enduring the hell that is being trapped within a Dementor and the next I’m walking across a foggy field somewhere near Loch Lomond.” He appeared to be distracted by his thoughts for a moment and Hermione tried to wriggle her wrist out of her bindings. “That won’t work,” He said, drawing her gaze back to him, he was still looking at the fire but she assumed he could see her in the corner of his vision. “Before my corruption I was quite the outdoorsman, liked fishing, sailing, hiking. Learned to tie knots that won’t come undone unless I pull them a certain way. There’s no need to feel afraid, Miss Granger. I don’t want to hurt you. I need your help.”



“My help?” She asked, ceasing her movements and watching him carefully. He didn’t seem anything like he once was. The manic energy, the twitch, they were all gone. All that sat before her was a young man who, if a little unkempt, looked liked a totally average wizard. He looked dark, but not evil, broody but not overly so. Though his eyes, they told of years of pain that didn’t show on his face.



“Why sound so surprised? You are a brilliant witch.” He said, his eyes holding hers with an expression that could only be respect.



“Not surprised that you know of my brilliance, only surprised that you’d think I’d help you.” She glared back at him. “You’re a death eater, a murderer and above all else you’re a cruel and evil person. Why would I help you?”



“Because someone has to,” He hissed reaching over and pulling her up by the bonds around her wrists. She was now inches from him as he spoke, his voice dangerously low, “I don’t know what has happened but I’m back and I’ve been given a second chance. I want to understand why. I want to know if this is permanent. If I get to live my life again and make the right choices or if this is a new form of torture. I get a taste of a new life only to have it taken once again.”



He seemed to realise what he was doing, how he must be scaring her, as he gently released her and she sat back on the rug looking at him with wide eyes. “If I help you what then?” She asked quietly.



“I don’t know.” He replied quietly.



“Will you let me go?” She asked, looking at the silk around her wrists.



“You don’t get it do you?” He asked, smiling and getting onto his knees. He pulled her hands to him and released them before doing the same to the bonds holding her ankles. Reaching behind him he picked up her wand and handed it to her. “Your not my prisoner Hermione. I won’t do those things anymore. I may not have been under the imperious curse when I did what I did but I was most certainly misled about right and wrong. I won’t make excuses or try and undo what is done but my time…” He paused and took a deep breath, “My time in purgatory has altered me in a way even I don’t understand.”



He stood leaving her on the ground, he paced the room a couple of times before stopping and looking down at her, “I need your help, I need someone to find out how and if nothow then what it means. I want to know.” He got down on one knee and looked at her from the same level, she drew back instinctively. “I’ll leave. Give you time. If you are willing to help me, if you trust that I have changed then light a candle and put it in your kitchen window. If there’s no candle in the window tomorrow I’ll know I’m not welcome. I won’t darken your doorstep again.”

He got to his feet once more and gave her a small smile before he left. She heard her kitchen door shut with a quiet click and let out a breath she wasn’t even aware she’d been holding. After a moment of stunned silence she fell back on the rug, the silk of her scarf draped over her stomach. She reached down and held it up. She didn’t know what to think. Of all the confounding situations she’d been in this had to be the most surreal. She reached down and pinched the flesh of her stomach. She grunted at the sensation, she wasn’t still asleep then. She turned on her side and looked into the fire.

She felt the familiar paws climbing over her legs before her cat, Snowie whose name really didn’t apply as she was grey, flopped on the floor in front of her purring.

“You trust him don’t you Snowie? Do you think I should trust him too?” The cat rolled onto her back baring her stomach to Hermione who began to tickle her. She was defiantly an odd cat but she’d allowed Barty Crouch Jnr to stroke her, something she only allowed a few people to do.

Hermione almost laughed, using her cat as her moral compass in this situation. No, she had to think this through. Work it out on her own. She couldn’t go to Harry or Ron about this. He’d come to her, if she thought he was honestly a threat she’d tell them but there was doubt clouding her mind about him. He could have killed her there and then. She was alone, wandless and for quite a while unconscious. He had every opportunity to kill her and he hadn’t. That spoke more volumes than anything he could have said.